Used Upholstery
by SetsuntaMew
Summary: Post-Battle City, Malik is involved with Bakura, but he's not so sure that Ryou's body is the only one that's being used. BM, YMR.


**Used Upholstery  
**by SetsuntaMew

Enjoy my first forays into YuGiOh fanfiction. I have about fifty other fanfic ideas in my head and in my class notes – Business 101 is particularly boring – and yet this is what I write. It was three in the morning, I was about to sleep, and then this just made me pull my laptop back out and start writing. Tada.

**Disclaimer**: Kazuki Takahashi owns the characters, I just play with them. And cosplay them. And lovelovelove them. Also, If this series got any gayer, it would be labeled as yaoi.

Dedicated to Arahith, because she'll appreciate the pairings and wish she had been awake when I was writing this. And because I love her. That too, you know.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"You'll ruin the upholstery."

Malik stared at Ryou, confused. He usually didn't say much, just sat at the kitchen table sipping his tea while Malik gathered his shoes and keys. The change in routine was jarring, to say the least. But Ryou looked back at him expectantly, and Malik realized he hadn't replied. "What?"

"The couch. Please don't have sex on it, I like its upholstery." And with that, Ryou went back to his tea and the newspaper, leaving Malik staring.

In the months after Battle City, Ryou had never once made a single request of Malik. He'd asked, once, why Ryou didn't mind what Bakura did with his body. He'd gotten a sigh as a response, and then _'At least the spirit has good taste.'_ And that sealed any other conversation on the matter. Instead a routine had formed; Ryou woke up a good hour or two before Malik – with no sign of Bakura, of course, the thief relished sleeping in – and left the bed without a word. Malik would wake up, grab his belongings, and leave, only to end up in Bakura's – _Ryou's?_ – bed before the day was over.

Malik nearly laughed now, once the shock was over. "I'll keep that in mind. Don't worry about your couch, Ryou. It wouldn't be all that comfortable."

Ryou looked and grinned – smiled? smirked? – and Malik wasn't sure if Bakura was gracing him with his presence. But it was all Ryou who answered, soft and deceptively innocently. "It's not."

And Malik's thoughts were haunted all day – even Sister noticed his change in mood, distracted as she was by the museum exhibit – by Ryou, pushed up against the couch, fingers twisted in his hair but not his hair, gasping, breathless, in memories that were his but not his.

When Malik showed up at apartment number 601, Bakura was lounging on the couch. And his mind was seeing things that weren't there, Ryou and himself but not himself, more gasped breaths and sighs and – no no no, Malik was here to escape, not be pulled back into his own deceptive head. He pinned Bakura down, shoving unbidden thoughts – memories? feelings? – out of his head. Mouths met in a battle for dominance, fingers in his hair and pulling at his pants, the not quite smilesmirk on Bakura's face when he lost – or was he winning? Was the thief pulling his strings the whole time? But Malik couldn't bring himself to care, he so rarely had Bakura in this position that he wouldn't question its occurrence.

Bakura pulled Malik into the bedroom later, claiming that the couch wasn't comfortable, and Malik couldn't help but feel vindicated by the thought of Ryou's upcoming annoyance. He hoped the couch was gone the next time he was over, or changed, or anything to remove the not quite memories from his head.

Because if Ryou was going to allow Malik's body to be used, he didn't care a thing for their paper thin friendship anymore.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

You know, this started out as something humorous in my head. Really. Ladies and gentlemen, my brain at three am. I'm still trying to figure out if I was too subtle or not enough. Hint: Ryou's sleeping with Yami no Malik. Oh deathshipping. My other lover.

I might edit this later when I'm not stupid-tired, but right now I just want to post something because it's only been, oh over a year? And my mind right now thinks it's fine the way it is.

Review, if you would so please.


End file.
